by Carnath-Emory » Fri Apr 27, 2007 8:11 am
"Hm."
Myrken Wood is not one of the land's wealthier territories: the Council is not much prone to such lavish displays as gardens with fountains, as caged menageries. But if they were, such behaviour as Calomel witnesses now might not be unfamiliar; he might recall in it the memory of caged beasts, hobbled and restless.
Oh, she paces. Three minutes see a wall measured by means of her uneven stride. Paces, and punctuates her stride with brisk sips from the mug, and draws her lips taut between them. Perhaps she performs wordless calculations, for the thin fingers tap, hold, release that mug in turn, as if they kept a-pace with her silent reckonings. Perhaps she weighs two eyes against a sole confession, two lives against a fool's thoughtless admission, three lives against all of Myrkentown --
"I would have these altered," she states at last, and with a twist of the narrow body to face the Constable once more. "But yours is not the authority to do this, yes? I would propose at least an exchange. He holds one of them hostage against the names I provide, yes?
I will not have it. He may hold my name in their stead."